


Chrysanthemum Tryst

by Mira



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-05
Updated: 2010-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-05 21:05:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mira/pseuds/Mira





	Chrysanthemum Tryst

Depart Glasgow 07:30  
Arrive Heathrow 09:00

Depart Heathrow 10:05  
Arrive LAX 13:05

LAX always smelt wrong to Billy. He didn't know why; shouldn't all airports smell the same? Jet fuel, asphalt, plastic, fast-food grease -- but here was something different. A quality of the smog, maybe? He never figured it out, and he never liked it. When he stepped outdoors, he took a deep breath of whatever it was and sneezed. Shaking his head, he looked around; no one seemed to recognize him, which half disappointed him but certainly made things easier.

He stepped to the edge of the pavement, looking for Elijah's blue Mini. It was nearly two in LA; he'd been traveling since seven the prior morning, when he'd left Glasgow. His back hurt, his bum, even his bones ached from sitting too long at too high an altitude. The strap of his carryon dug into his shoulder, so he dropped it on top of his bag; when he looked up, Viggo stood in front of him.

"Hey."

"You're not Elijah." Viggo just looked at him. "Yeah, you know that. This just a coincidence?"

"Elijah's still in Prague. He asked me to meet you. Thought we could hang for a few days. Been a long time."

Billy hoisted his carryon and jerked the handle of his bag to tilt it on its wheels. "Sounds lovely." He followed Viggo to a battered, once-red pickup.

Vig grabbed his bag and strapped it into the bed. "Put that in the cab," Viggo said, nodding at the carryon. "Nice colour."

"Fuck off," Billy said. "Dom's."

"Figured. Being fluorescent pink an' all."

"Yeah, well." Billy had stopped seeing the colour. It clashed with the dirty red of the truck as he climbed in. The bench seat was covered in plastic, taped right where Billy's arse fit best. "This new?" Viggo grinned at him, shoved it into gear, and merged into the traffic eternally circling LAX. Billy yawned and rubbed his eyes. "Where you livin' these days?"

"Still in Venice. Not too far from Elijah."

"Cool." Billy shut his eyes. Just for a minute, he told himself. Just till they hit the motorway.

When he opened his eyes, they were on the motorway, but the sun was much lower in the sky and he was sure they weren't headed to Venice. "Uh, Vig?" he started. A sign shot past the pickup: Palmdale. Lancaster. "Last time I was in LA, I don't think we took this route."

"Naw," Viggo said, changing lanes, heading to the right. "We're going north. Thought it was time you saw something other than LA for a change."

"So where we going?"

"Up Owens Valley."

"Oh, that's clear. You remember I'm from Scotland, yeah?"

"More reason to see this, then." Viggo fell silent, but Billy knew him well enough not to press him. He'd talk when he was ready. Instead, Billy extracted a bottle of water from his carryon, twisted off the cap, and drank deeply. He handed it to Viggo, who also drank, then said, "Brought coffee, in a thermos under the seat."

Billy fished around beneath him and pulled up a silver tube. "Want some?"

"Not just yet, but help yourself." Billy tucked it back under the seat and turned to study the scenery around them. The air was cool, but the light washed out the colours of the landscape as if it were much hotter. He slid his sunglasses back on, glad he hadn't mislaid them again. Typical LA, he thought: rolling hills covered in identical houses interspersed with identical shopping malls. How many Macys did the world need, anyway?

He pulled a jumper from his carryon and folded it to fit between his head and the window. No telling how far they were going; he might as well get some rest. Shutting his eyes, he relaxed into the rhythmic jouncing of the truck, and let the California desert slip past.

The next time he opened his eyes, the traffic was much lighter. He felt awake for the first time in days. He raised his hands above his head, pushing against the dented ceiling of the cab, and stretched. He settled back, resting his arm across the seat, and studied Viggo. "How you been, Vig?" He nodded. Billy thought, not for the first time, how American Viggo looked to him. Like the cowboys he had admired in films when he was a little boy: lean, weather-beaten, laconic. "You're such a cliche," Billy said, and Viggo smiled.

"That a bad thing?"

"No. No, I don't think so." They rode in silence for a while longer. "You ever gonna tell me where we're going?"

"Would a cliche tell?"

Billy leaned back and stared out the windshield. "Nope," he finally said. He checked his watch, still set to Glasgow time. "We've been on the road for over two hours," he pointed out. "Will you not tell me how much longer?"

"Nother three, maybe four."

"All right, then. I'll let you be mysterious this time. But I'll need to stop and piss soon."

Viggo nodded and glanced at the odometer. "Nearly to Lancaster. We'll stop for a bite to eat, too. Pour me out some coffee, would ya? And help yourself."

Billy pulled the thermos out from under the seat. The cap unscrewed into two cups, so he carefully filled one and handed it to Viggo before filling the second. The coffee was still hot, very strong, and bitterly unsweetened. It tasted, he thought, like America.

The land here was so different from home. They'd turned inland, off the enormous 405 and onto a less-traveled motorway. The land was scrubby and dirty looking to his eyes. Hot, too, he'd bet, in the summer. He and Dom had driven up 101 a couple of times, but he'd never driven inland like this. A different world. He wondered if Dom had been this way without him.

His bladder was full to bursting when Viggo finally turned into a Denny's in Lancaster. "Bite to eat," he murmured, and Billy nodded, following him in. He'd been to Denny's before. At first he'd found them sterile and unimaginative, but he'd traveled enough now to be grateful for their homogeneity. He knew what to expect and, isolated in the middle of an alien land, that was a comfort.

He had a turkey sandwich and a bowl of soup, surprised at how hungry he was. Usually air travel put him off his food for a while, but sitting quietly with Viggo for so many hours had settled him down. He watched Viggo eat methodically, while reading a small paperback. "What's that?"

Viggo turned it over so Billy could read the cover. _Ugetsu Monogatari,_ the spine read. Sounded Japanese, he thought.

When they'd finished eating, Viggo ordered some coffee to go to refill the thermos and they walked out into the evening to climb back into the truck.

Billy was used to long silences from Viggo, used to his surprises and mysteries. He was happy to ride along in the battered pickup and watch the strange landscape stream past his window. When the sun had moved below the mountains and the sky had deepened to indigo, he realized they'd been climbing and were moving out of the high desert into a long sloping valley filled with grasses. The peaks to their left gleamed white with snow.

"This is beautiful," he said, his voice hoarse after the lengthy silence.

"Thought you'd like it," Viggo said, and smiled.

Billy did. He did like it. He poured them more coffee and sat up, watching closely. He had the sensation of flying again, as if he were still on the Heathrow to LAX flight, high above the earth. Even his ears were popping, and he yawned exaggeratedly to clear them.

Viggo began to talk at last, telling Billy about Henry's interest in music, how Elijah was spending more time with Henry, when he wasn't making or promoting a movie, and how he hoped that Henry had inherited his mother's talents. "A musician's life is hard," Billy observed, and Viggo nodded.

"Harder than an actor's?"

Billy shrugged. "Depends. Henry's used to the life; he was brought up to it. So maybe not."

While Viggo talked, Billy thought about children, about the responsibility and the fears for them. He'd watched Henry grow up from a plump adolescent into a large man. He could still see the boy in Henry's face when he looked for it. What must it be like to see your child develop and change like that? Could Viggo see the baby Henry in his face, too? Terrifying to imagine what could happen. The world was such a scary place, and human lives so fragile, and so brief. Viggo fell silent, and Billy sighed.

They stopped again in Big Pine, a wide spot in the road, for Viggo to put petrol in the truck while Billy bought a bag of cheeseburgers and crisps and two chocolate milkshakes. Horrible non-food; he knew Dom would disapprove, but Dom wasn't here and it was quick and easy, and all the grease and salt had their own sensual appeal. "Not much farther now," Viggo told him as he wrestled the truck up a narrow winding road.

"Where the fuck are we goin'?" Billy asked, grabbing onto the dashboard.

"Up about six thousand feet. Bit rough, but look at those rock formations."

In the moonlight, the chocolate brown rocks cut jagged patches out of the spider web of stars above them. Billy rolled down the window; the cold air smelt piney and sweet. He twisted his head to look behind them but there was nothing: no lights, no sound. He wondered if it was even legal to be here; knowing Viggo, it wasn't, or marginally so. But he didn't care. He'd claim Viggo had kidnapped him from the airport.

Billy smiled at the thought and rolled the window back up. "What?" Viggo asked, but without waiting for an answer said, "Okay, here we go." He pulled into a circular carpark, stopping at the far end. Their headlights revealed a low building and signs reading "Visitor Center."

"What're we visitin'?" Billy asked.

"Come with me. Put on your sweater, though; it's chilly up here."

Chilly didn't really describe it, Billy thought. It was fuckin' freezin'. He opened his carryon again to grab a long-sleeved tee and pulled it on, then his jumper, before following Viggo who was carrying a lumpy leather backpack. "Shit," Billy gasped, stopping abruptly.

"Oh, yeah. We're at eleven thousand feet. That's, uh --" he stared into space, "That's about four thousand metres. Gotta move slow."

Slow, yeah, Billy muttered. He thought he was in good shape, but could only take two or three steps before needing a deep breath. The night was so quiet that he could hear the blood pulsing in his ears. Each slow, deep exhalation left a pale white trail in the night.

Viggo slowly led him up a steep winding track, wide enough for one person. The ground was crisp and covered in shale; he found it easy to slip, more reason to proceed cautiously. Slow, slow, slow, beat his heart. Viggo stopped, and Billy leaned against him. Even Viggo was breathing harshly.

"What?" Billy whispered.

"Just a bit more," Viggo murmured, and they started moving again, shoulders bumping as they worked their way up the narrow track. "Liiiitle bit more," Billy heard Viggo say over his breathing. "Here."

He looked up. The track turned abruptly to the right; ahead of him was a dead tree. "Uh, Vig."

"Touch it."

Billy stared at it first. Nothing remarkable, really. One of the deadest trees he'd ever seen. Not very tall, skinny, white in the starlight. Then he noticed an odd stripe running up one side. "What the hell is this?"

Viggo didn't respond. Billy stared harder at the white tree; it didn't look anything at all like the White Tree of Gondor. In the thin moonlight, it looked shorter than that, frailer. It wasn't in the least beautiful. It looked hardy as hell, stronger than Billy was. "Touch it," Viggo whispered again, right into his ear, making Billy jump. He took a deep breath and reached out. Beneath his hand, the tree felt silken smooth. He patted it lightly, then rested his hand against it. "Feel it?" Viggo asked.

Billy wasn't ready to admit it, but he did. Felt something, at least. He was shivering in the frosty air, squinting a bit, trying to see what only glimmered in the night. "Beautiful," he murmured.

"Do you know what it is yet?"

Billy shook his head.

"A bristlecone pine. You're touching one of the oldest living creatures in the world. It's nearly four thousand years old."

"You're kiddin' me." Billy looked over his shoulder, up at Viggo, but he was serious. "You're not kiddin' me."

"I'm not." Viggo put his hand over Billy's. "You're right. It is beautiful. I wanted you to see it. You needed to see it." Billy nodded, sighing. He left his hand on the tree, curling his fingers around it. "You're cold," Viggo said, and slid his arm around Billy's shoulders. "Come on. Let's go."

Abruptly he dropped his hand and started moving down the track. Billy followed more slowly, aware again of each breath. He'd never before been so conscious of his lungs. Each step entailed a deeper inhalation, and the pulse in his ears thumped loudly. Viggo led Billy back to the pickup and gathered two lumpy sleeping bags from the back, nodding to Billy to bring the leather backpack.

He led them away from the carpark, downhill a bit, then climbing again. Billy was exhausted and finding it more difficult to breathe, but he was embarrassed to say anything, so he quietly plodded along, breathing deeply, watching the crusty soil that crunched under Viggo's boot heels and glittered beneath the stars. He'd fallen into a kind of meditative state when Viggo abruptly stopped and shook out the sleeping bags.

He sat gratefully, kicking off his shoes and climbing into the bag, letting Viggo build a small fire. "Here," Viggo said, offering Billy a strip of teriyaki jerky. "Got a banana here, too, and an apple."

"Banana," Billy said through a mouthful of the jerky; it was stickier than toffee but tasted wonderful. His stomach growled appreciatively. They ate quickly, Viggo apparently as hungry as Billy. Afterwards, Viggo lit up, took a big hit, and passed the joint to Billy who inhaled deeply. A second hit and he felt as high as he ever had.

"Altitude," Viggo said, holding his breath. "Gets ya high." Billy raised his eyebrows. "Higher," Viggo amended.

It certainly felt true. Billy was tired and jet-lagged and weirded out by the long drive to this strange place. Bristlecones, Viggo had called them. Aliens, Billy thought. They're really aliens.

He felt more lightheaded, and his stomach rumbled unpleasantly. "Vig," he said, and put his hands to his head.

"It's okay, Bill," Vig said, rubbing his shoulder. "Go with it."

"Wi' what?" he tried to ask, but the taste in his mouth was so vile he had to spit. What had Viggo done to him? He spit again, and then gagged, dry-heaving. "Fuck," he gasped. Viggo kept his hands on Billy's shoulders, rubbing them, holding him up while he tried to puke. The world spun around him, the stars cartwheeling around the sky at high speed, and he became aware of the earth beneath him, round and rolling through space.

Viggo arranged Billy so he sat slumped over. "Easier to puke this way," he murmured, and so Billy found it as he gagged and drooled and spit.

"Fuck," he said when he could speak again. "Just fuckin' kill me." Behind him, he heard Viggo's laugh, low and rumbly. He helped Billy lay down at last, and wiped his face before moving behind Billy to arrange him in the sleeping bag. Billy sighed heavily, and suddenly there was a man in front of him, tall and thin, with a narrow black goatee. Billy was too wasted to move, shaking too hard to be startled. He just stared at the man, who stared back, his black eyes as shiny as buttons and as big and round as Elijah's. He stood on the other side of the fire, wavering and shimmering in the unsteady light.

Billy sighed. His eyes closed. The last thing he felt was Viggo passing a damp cloth over his face.

He woke with a throbbing headache, his mouth puckered with dried bile, and bruised-feeling eyes. The last time he'd felt this bad was after a long night drinking with Dom. This morning, he was wrapped in a sleeping bag, the silver thermos from Viggo's pickup nearby. There was no sign of Viggo.

He sat up, cautiously, and ran his fingers through his hair, surprised that his head didn't roll right off, then unscrewed the thermos and drank straight from it. Cold coffee. He spat out the first mouthful, then swallowed the rest from the flask. He coughed, coughed again, and realized he had to piss like a son of a bitch. As Viggo would say.

And where was that arsehole, anyway? Billy climbed to his feet, staggering a bit. His heart kicked into high gear, and he remembered how high they were. He took a deep breath, and tottered downhill a bit, away from their camp. He fished out his prick and groaned with pleasure as he pissed. He was shaking himself when he heard Viggo's voice. "Fresh coffee."

"Good," Billy said, his voice a husky whisper. "Where the bloody hell have you been?"

"Takin' a dump. You okay?"

"What the fuck did ya do t'me, Vig? What was I smokin'?"

"Just weed. Must've been the elevation."

"Christ, it's never hit me like that." He took the blue-spotted mug of steaming coffee that Viggo offered him. "Saw something last night. A bloke." Sipping from his own mug, Viggo raised his eyebrows. "Big skinny fella. Don't suppose he was really here?"

Viggo shook his head. "Want a granola bar?" They ate in silence, Billy licking his fingers. "Thought we'd hike up to see another stand of the bristlecones, if you like. These are even older."

"I would like that," Billy said, surprised to find it true. His head still felt like an abused football, but the coffee and granola bars were settling well. He looked around the barren hillside, slippery with shale, the thin sunlight bouncing off the light-coloured rock. Nothing like Scotland, not in the least, but it had its own austere beauty, he thought.

Their hike wasn't like any other Billy had been on. For one thing, he couldn't take more than a few steps without pausing to take another deep breath. The silence rang in his ears, disturbed only by the crunch of the gravel beneath his trainers. His vision narrowed to the back of Viggo's run-over boots, the footprints they made, the glare of the rock. The air smelt cold and dusty, and he had to keep pinching at his nose.

They walked a long time but not, Billy thought, very far. Very slowly down the slope, around its base, then up again, and then he saw the trees. They looked different in the dazzle of day. Both less and more imposing; less, because he could see more clearly how fragile they were, but more, because he could also see how old they were.

"Feel it?" Viggo murmured, pausing with Billy in front of one. Billy nodded, staring up at it. They were taller than they'd looked last night. He rested his palm against the golden-white trunk and closed his eyes. He wasn't sure what he felt: exhaustion, certainly; he was still jet-lagged, and being so sick last night hadn't helped. Cold. Breathless. Ready for a bath.

There was more, though, running between the tree and Billy. He exhaled, and rested his forehead against the trunk. Was it imagination, or did he feel a subtle vibration? Maybe he was still trembling from last night. He shook his head, feeling the tree press against him. "Yeah," he finally said. "Yeah." Dom should be here, he thought as he relaxed against the smooth cool trunk. Always worried about trees, climbing them, buying forests in distant countries -- Dom would love this.

Viggo laid his hand on Billy's shoulder; Billy opened his eyes and raised his head. They meandered through the sparse grove of bristlecones, stopping in front of each one. Almost in meditation, Billy thought as he stared at another patriarch. Both men kept reaching out to them, resting their hands against their trunks, placing them gently on the short, jagged-ended branches. "Beautiful," Billy whispered, and realized it was true -- in their absolute purity, the trees were beautiful.

Billy and Viggo camped out another night before starting the drive back to LA. "Thanks," Billy said, once they'd packed up and were climbing into the cab. "Never even heard o' this place."

"Not many have," Viggo said, slamming the driver's door. "Haven't been back since Henry was a boy. Thought it was time."

"Yeah," Billy said, staring out the passenger window. Dom should be here, he thought again. Maybe someday he'd bring him.

He spent another two days with Viggo, at his home in Venice, surfing in the mornings, walking the beach, watching the weight-lifters, gymnasts, and skateboarders. LA was just as sunny as Big Pine had been, but the light was such a different quality. Staring out over the beach, he realized he could recognize the quality of light as LA's without seeing a single palm tree or a grain of sand.

One evening, as he sat in Viggo's back garden drinking beer while reading the Times, Vig came out and leaned against him, lightly stroking his hair. Billy leaned his head back to look up at Viggo, who bent down and swiftly kissed him. "My mare's about to foal," he said.

"In Idaho?"

Viggo nodded. "You're welcome to stay here, or come with. But Chris Astin called; her girls want to see their Uncle Billy. What would you like?"

"Since that arsehole Elwood isn't back from Prague yet? I guess visit the Astins. Don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' baby horses."

Viggo nodded, and continued stroking Billy's hair. He sighed happily, relaxing into Viggo's warm thigh where it pressed against Billy's shoulder. Being in Viggo's company was peculiarly relaxing, even though you could never predict what he'd do.

* * *

Viggo dropped Billy off at the Astins' on his way to LAX. They'd scheduled things so Viggo could spend an hour or so with the Astins, the two older girls climbing over him, shouting for Billy to swing them in circles, and Viggo and Billy were delighted to wind them up while Chris watched with a loving smile. But when Viggo had gone, Billy was left to cope with two blonde whirlwinds. "Come see my dolls," Lizzie begged, tugging on his arm, while Ali insisted he toss her into the air.

"Isn't it time for tea?" Billy asked Chris, who laughed and rose.

"Come on, girls. Let's fix tea for our guest."

"Tea's nasty," Lizzie said. "Want chocolate milk."

"One glass. We don't want to spoil our dinner, do we," her mum said, leading Billy and the girls into the kitchen. "Sit down, Bill, and guide me through this. I actually have some loose tea Dom brought us from Manchester."

Lizzie climbed into Billy's lap while Ali and Chris bustled around the kitchen. The youngest girl was napping, Chris had explained, but before the kettle had boiled, Billy heard a soft cry. "Sissie!" Ali said, and dashed off, Chris following.

"So it's just us to fix the tea," Billy told Lizzie, who nodded wisely. She reminded Billy more of Sean than of Chris, with her furrowed brow and serious expression. Ali was lighter in nature and more inclined to laugh, whereas Liz seemed more intent, as if the world weighed upon her little shoulders.

The backdoor opened just as Billy was rising to move the kettle to the hob, and Sean came in. "Bill!" he cried, and they hugged tightly. Billy felt a gentle kiss on his cheek, and kissed Sean back. "God, I missed you," Sean sighed, patting Billy's back before releasing him to scoop up Lizzie. "And you, too, little girl," he said, kissing her snub nose.

"Tea, Daddy," she said, pointing at Billy.

"Love tea," Sean replied, "but I bet you want chocolate milk. What did Mommy say?"

"One glass before dinner," Billy replied, pouring water onto the leaves Chris had scooped into a teapot. "She's getting the baby."

"Have you seen her? You won't believe what a big girl she's gotten to be."

"And here she is," Chris said proudly. Billy set down the kettle to worship at the shrine of Astin babyhood, happy to do so. All three girls were beautiful. Ali was the most special to him, of course, because he'd known her so many years, since she was a tiny thing, but darling Lizzie he'd known literally her entire life, and now here was another to spoil and tease. Billy kissed the baby fondly, letting her surprisingly strong tiny fingers wrap around his forefinger. A powerful feeling washed through him, something he couldn't easily identify. Love, perhaps, he thought, staring down at her placid face while she sucked on his index finger. Fear, certainly, for the inevitable hurts the world held in store for her. A desire to stop time and keep these dear people here with him, safe.

"Lassie, lovely lass," he murmured. Ali leaned against his leg, and he saw she was sucking her thumb. Jealous, he thought, stroking her soft hair. He bent over to kiss the top of her head, and then poured tea for the grownups while Sean got the girls their milk. Chris put the baby in Billy's arms so he could feed her, letting his tea cool while he watched and listened to her slurp, her blue eyes observing him sharply. Ali sat in her mum's lap, and Sean held Lizzie.

"I'm so glad you're here," Sean told Billy later, when they'd moved outside. Chris had discreetly left them, murmuring something about fixing dinner, but Billy thought she was just giving them time to be alone.

"So good to see ya, Seanie," Billy told him honestly. He did love Sean, from the moment they first met so many years ago. So easy to take the piss out of Sean, and so much fun to watch him turn pink with embarrassment, but at heart such a gentle man, and so terribly needy, that Billy found him irresistible. Both of them, Billy thought, had been starved as children: starved for affection and physical touch. Since they'd met, it was as if they'd recognized each other as different from the others, particularly from Dom who was still the beloved baby of his charmed family. "I'm glad that fucker is still in Prague."

Sean laughed, shaking his head. "Unlike him, though, not to be someplace when he said he would be. But I talked to him a couple of days ago, and he's fine; just super busy."

"Hasn't bothered to call me," Billy sniffed.

Sean looked at his watch. "It's not too late there. Call him now?"

Billy shrugged and sipped at his beer, then fished out his mobile. He heard Sean laugh when he saw it; Dom had painted it for Billy, cartoons of geckos and wetas and a stalk of purple heather glowing from it. He speed-dialed Elijah's number, but was immediately connected to his voicemail. He slurped his beer loudly into the phone and burped. "Bitch," he said, but then Sean took the mobile from him.

"Hey, bro," Sean crooned. "Bill's here with me. He can stay forever, as far as I'm concerned, but you did invite him out. Call us, 'kay? Love you." Billy leaned over to burp again. "Phew," Sean said, snapping the mobile shut and waving it in the air between them. "Don't teach my girls that."

"Chris'd kill me," Billy agreed, resting his head back and shutting his eyes against the blurred light.

"I really am glad you're here," Sean said. Billy smiled, and stretched out a hand so Sean could catch it. He sat warming in the sun, sleepy and relaxed.

Sean was between jobs, so the six of them spent the days together. They took Billy to mass with them on Sunday, and grocery shopping with them where he pushed all three girls around in a trolley under Sean's worried eye, and to an amusement park where they played miniature golf. At Sean's insistence, the two of them went golfing at a real course, very manicured, nothing like the craggy courses Billy was used to at home. But Sean clearly enjoyed driving around in the little electric cart, even if he was shite at the game.

Chris took the girls to visit her mum for two days and a night, so Sean and Billy had the house to themselves. "So quiet," Billy murmured over his porridge, and Sean nodded. He looked sad to be away from his family even for a day; Billy could feel his energy drain away. "Let's go someplace right noisy," he suggested.

Sean fussed, as Billy had known he would, pulling out maps and checking The Weather Channel, as if southern California summer weather ever varied, but finally decided on Manhattan Beach. "My mom used to bring me here as a kid," he explained as they waited at an interminable light. Enormous jets screamed overhead, landing at nearby LAX, and half the cars on the road vibrated with conflicting music. Sean's CD played something vaguely Celtic; Elijah would be scoffing at it, Billy knew, and as a Scot, he should, too, but he found it soothing.

The traffic finally moved, and Sean turned right, onto a broad boulevard heading downhill. Billy was just pointing at a sign reading Public Parking when a VW pulled out and, neat as that, Sean parallel parked at the kerb. They sat in silent disbelief for a moment. "Will of God, I guess," Sean finally said.

"You sure this is legal?" Laughing, they twisted their heads around, looking for something to indicate this wasn't really a place to park a car. "It's a fucking miracle."

"Well, let's feed the metre and give thanks," Sean said, getting out of the car. Billy pulled a handful of American coins from his pocket and together they picked through them until the digital numbers on the metre read "2 hours."

"It's gone two," Billy observed, subtracting eight hours from the time on his watch.

"Plenty of time. It's not far." They started walking down the hill, navigating between scantily dressed girls and boys in baggy shorts. "Best parking spot I ever had. We'll have to memorialize it: Sean and Billy parked here."

"Why are there so many good-lookin' girls in LA?" Billy wondered for the thousandth time. "It's not my imagination, Sean. I've counted them. There's a far higher ratio of good lookin' girls here than anywhere else."

"Boys, too," Sean said, nodded toward a tall, well-built blond surf god. He and Billy studied him surreptitiously as they passed; Billy knew Sean was missing the hard body he'd worked so hard to achieve as a young man, something Billy had never been willing to sacrifice for. They sighed in unison once he'd passed them, and then burst out laughing.

"Ah, we're middle-aged, Seanie," Billy said comfortingly, and took Sean's arm.

The walk to the pier was only three short blocks down the hill from their miraculous parking space. As they walked, Billy breathed in the clean salty air and the scent of sunblock. They stared in the windows of the narrow storefronts they passed: women's clothes, surfing gear, jewelry, bars, cafes. Though the sidewalks and businesses were packed, they wandered unmolested, perhaps unrecognized. After all, Billy thought, who would expect to see two former hobbits here?

The pier was lined with picture-taking tourists, kids rollerblading, lovers walking entwined. The beach on either side stretched out for miles, covered in kids and young mothers, while just beyond the breakers surfers hung patiently in the water, waiting for a wave to ride. But the surf was nearly still, no bigger splashes than in a bath, Billy thought, smiling as he watched one young man fight for a ride on his short board. He couldn't help but remember the hours he'd spent surfing with Dom, all over the world. He decided to find time to surf while he was here; maybe tomorrow. Certainly the next day.

He and Sean stood in the early afternoon sunlight, arms touching as they rested against the railing, and stared around them. Billy was sweating and wished he'd worn a cap like Sean had. He reached up and swiped it off Sean, cramming in onto his own head. "Thinner hair n' you," he explained to Sean's laughter.

They stood at the railing for a long time, till Sean's knees started to give out, and then began walking slowly back to the car. "Oi, look," Billy said, pointing.

"Oh, god, just what I don't need," Sean groaned, but he led Billy inside the wooden building. A freezer case of different ice creams was bordered by a row of kids peering into it. They got into line, Sean whispering to Billy the flavours since Sean was able to read the labels with his glasses and Billy was too vain to wear his in public.

"What're you gettin'?" Billy asked, studying the menu.

"Chocolate milk shake, with extra whipped cream. Hey," he said at Billy's look, "if we're gonna do this, I'm gonna do it right."

Billy nodded and decided on something called a "coffee bean crunch" shake. Not something he'd normally eat, but this was a special day.

The wait was long, with so many indecisive sprogs ahead of them, but Billy was content to wait with Sean, watching the kids and their mums who seemed too young to be having babies, and an elderly couple at a booth sharing a dish of ice cream. Outside, the throngs crowded past the window, and Billy always enjoyed watching girls in bikinis, especially on a warm day on the beach. Sex on the Beach, he remembered, was the name of a drink. I want Sex on the Beach, he thought, smiling to himself and then at Sean's quizzical look. He thought about whispering those words to Sean, but restrained himself since they were still unnoticed in such a public space.

At last they strolled outside, milkshakes in hand. Billy's was very good, not too sweet, and strongly coffee flavoured. Sean lifted out a scoop of whipped cream with his straw and offered it to Billy, who sucked it gratefully, licking his lips. He smiled at Sean, touched by the gesture, knowing it was something Sean would have done with Ali or Lizzie had they been here. "Where to?" he asked.

Sean shrugged. "No plans, really. Walk along the beach?" Billy liked that idea. They kicked their trainers off, tying the laces together and letting them dangle, Billy's over his shoulder, Sean's from the hand not carrying his milkshake. The sand was warm and soft under Billy's feet, and the sunshine fell lightly on his shoulders. To their right, flats rose, painted in pastels and earth tones, latticed with balconies. From the corner of his eye, he saw a pretty girl lean over the white railing of a balcony and smile at him. Did she recognize him? Was she flirting? He smiled back at her, but also at himself. Funny, how a pretty girl can brighten an already bright day.

"Nice boobies," Sean murmured, nudging Billy, who laughed and nodded. They had indeed been nice, resting on the white railing, nestled in her arms, peeking out of the tight pink tee-shirt she'd been wearing.

"Lovely, in fact," he agreed. The boobies, the day, the milkshake, Sean's company: it all was lovely. "I'm glad Elwood's late. Wouldn't be here with you, wouldn't have seen them --" he gestured behind them, "had he been at the airport like he was supposed t'be."

"Me, too, Bill." Sean paused to look out to sea where the reflection of the afternoon sun now lay, a road to the West.

"I saw something," Billy said abruptly. "With Viggo. This guy." Sean looked curiously at him. "Tall skinny white guy, with a weird, like, goatee. And weirder eyes."

Sean nodded, not taking his eyes off Billy. "Where?"

He waved behind them. "Somewhere up in the mountains. So high I could barely breathe. And he was just there. I know, incredible."

"You were with Viggo; you were high."

Billy gave him a look. "I been high before. So've you, Senator."

Sean had the grace to blush, but he didn't look away. "Did the guy hurt you? Scare you?"

"Scared me a wee bit." Billy nodded, and started walking back toward the car, Sean following. They dropped their nearly-empty cups into a rubbish bin. "Viggo was there, but he didn't see anything. Or maybe he did, but wouldn't say. Anyway. Just. Fuckin' weird."

"Fuckin' weird," Sean agreed. "Think it means anything?"

They walked in silence back to the car, Billy pondering Sean's question. When they were finally buckled in, Billy said, "Fuck me if I know. But I don't think so."

"Still."

"Yeah. Still."

Billy was silent as Sean maneuvered a complicated U-turn across the busy street; Billy was sure he wouldn't have been able to. Waiting at the eternally-red street light, Sean turned to him. "I don't think it means much, Bill. But is it somebody out of your past? Did you know him?"

"Naw, never saw him before. He looked American, anyway. Like a cowboy."

"You were out in the mountains. Maybe it was a cowboy. A ghost of the place you were at."

Billy smiled. Driving through LA, it was hard to believe it had a past old enough to encompass ghosts. But maybe. "Maybe," he said. "That was good ice cream."

* * *

Lizzie woke Billy the next morning, bouncing on his bed. "Shh," he whispered. "Too early. You'll wake yer mum an' dad."

"Shhh," she whispered back, crawling up the bed to put her arms around his neck. "Everybody's asleep except the man at the door."

That woke Billy up. "There's a man at the door? Which door, honey? Show Uncle Billy."

Giving thanks as he slid out of bed that he'd slept in pants, he drew a pair of jeans over them and followed Lizzie down the hall into the main part of the house and then into the kitchen. He could see the blurred outline of a tall skinny man through the glass backdoor, and for a moment wondered if it was the cowboy he'd seen that night with Viggo on the mountain. Then he opened the door to find Orlando.

"Hey, mate! I heard you were in town, so I came by, just in from Hong Kong, I'm on Hong Kong time and jetlagged as fuck, sorry, Lizzie." Without pausing, Orlando swung Lizzie up into his arms and kissed her. "Lijah called me, said he was gonna be late, would I take care of you, so here I am, yeah? Where's Sean? Are you hungry? I could really use a drink. Is Dom with you?"

"Orlando, it's not even seven here. Why don't I fry you up some brekkie?"

"Brekkie," Liz said, playing with Orlando's tousled curls. "Wanna see my new doll? She can pee, and cries."

"Why don't you go get your doll and show Uncle Orlando?" Billy suggested, opening the refrigerator door. Orlando kissed her cheek again, setting her down so she could scamper off. "Good to see ya, Orli," Billy said. Orlando stooped to kiss Billy on the cheek as well.

"Missed ya," Orlando said, wrapping his arms around Billy's middle. "Missed ya something fierce."

"Why were ya in Hong Kong?"

"Making a movie."

"More pirates?"

"Naw."

"Last Samurai?"

Orlando pulled Billy over backwards so he could look him in the eye. "No Samurai in Hong Kong, Bills. It's about when the British left, 'kay? So no jokes."

"Sorry, Orli. Required of all the Fellowship to trash your flicks. You know that. You signed the contract."

Orlando kissed Billy's forehead noisily before releasing him. "Forgot. Yeah. What's for breakfast?"

"Hm. They got eggs. Lots of bread, even some low-carb bread, which I'm not touchin'. Turkey bacon. Orange juice. Want some orange juice?"

"With vodka, yeah."

"Who's trashing my kitchen in the middle of the night?" Sean asked. Orlando whirled, seizing Sean to dance with him around the kitchen table.

"Look, Uncle Orli, my doll can pee!"

Billy started to laugh at the chaos behind him, and cracked more eggs into a bowl. Might as well make enough for the whole household. Dom might be the cook of the Fellowship, but even Billy could manage eggs and toast.

Billy spent the day in the Astins' backyard, with the entire family and Orlando, chasing the girls, helping Sean barbecue, catching up with Orlando. "Quite the world traveler," Billy told him, sipping on a beer while flattening a burger with a metal spatula.

"Don't do that," Sean scolded. "You'll dry out the meat."

Billy threatened to spank him with the spatula, and ended up chasing Sean around the back garden with it, making the girls squeal with laughter. Orlando assumed control of the barbecue, refusing all attempts to help. The chicken turned out particularly well, Billy thought, licking the sweet sauce from his fingers after peeling the meat off a drumstick for Lizzie to eat. He was a bit tipsy from all the beer and sunshine and excitement. It was nice.

Orlando spent the night at the Astins' as well, and the three men sat up late, reminiscing, planning, hoping. Billy basked in their fond attention; Sean kept his arm around Billy's shoulder, playing with his hair, while Orlando massaged his feet. "When's Elijah coming home?" Sean asked, late in the night.

Billy opened his mobile, but he got only Elijah's voicemail yet again. "Where the fuck are you?" he asked irritably. "Half the Fellowship is here; why aren't you?" He rang off, and looked at the others. "Why the fuck did he invite me out if he wasn't going to be here?"

Orlando squeezed his foot sympathetically, making Billy groan. He leaned back against Sean.

The next morning, Orlando stood in the front doorway, little girls clinging to him. "Come with me, Bill," he said. "I haven't seen you in years. Let's do something. No telling when Elijah will get here."

Billy looked at Sean, his arm around Chris's waist. "Go on," Sean said. "Leave your stuff here. Come back whenever you want."

"You know this is your home, too," Chris said, smiling at him. Billy wrapped his arms around both Astins, kissing Chris's cheek.

"Thank you," he whispered, genuinely moved by her statement. But he discovered he did want to spend time with Orlando; it had been months and months since they'd done more than kiss hello at a premiere or at Liv's wedding. "Orli?" he turned to look at his friend. "A blonde in each arm," Billy said. "Just like in People Magazine."

Orlando kissed the girls and handed them to Sean and Chris. "I'll just keep him for a day or two, no more," he promised, pulling Billy towards him. "Then return him safe and sound."

"Go, go," Sean said, making shooing motions. "We love you both, but you're too much at one time."

Still holding Billy's arm, Orlando tugged him toward his car. "What the fuck is this?" Billy asked.

"It's a Lexus, fuckhead."

"It's a mommy-car."

"Where'd you hear that?"

"Chris. That's what she calls her SUV."

"It is not a fuckin' mommy-car. Christ. You've been living with Americans too damn long."

"I've been living -- you fuck. You're thinkin' of Dom. I don't have a fuckin' house in fuckin' LA like some Brits I could mention."

They climbed into the SUV, bickering amicably, Billy not wondering for a minute where they were going. Orlando began to drive, swerving into the left lane briefly before straightening back onto the right side. "Jesus," Billy said, grabbing the dashboard dramatically. "In the States, you idjit."

"Fuck you, Boyd. Heard you distracted Dom so badly he bashed in his new Prius."

Billy began to laugh. "Little bugger can't keep his eyes off me; that's hardly my fault. Besides, even Monaghan can keep the car on the right side of the road."

Orlando swerved again, deliberately this time, and Billy laughed harder. It was another summer day in LA, already warm, the smog obscuring what downtown existed in LA. He was free from responsibility, hanging with an old friend, with nothing to do but wait for Elijah. "Where we going?"

"I rented a place in Malibu; thought I'd go check it out."

"Check it out? Haven't ya seen it yet?"

Orlando shook his head. "Somebody out of my agent's office rented it for me. I've got an address and a map and a key; that's all. In fact." He patted his breast pocket and pulled out a folded paper. "Here. Tell me how to get there."

"Jesus, Orli. I can't believe the life you lead."

"Don't pick on me, Billy, please?" He looked pleadingly at Billy. "I'm so tired. I just want to be with friends for a while."

Billy pursed his lips and studied Orlando. He did look tired. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

Orlando shrugged. "Me and Sean talked a lot. Then he fell asleep, so I read the paper and watched some telly. Lizzie woke me up this morning, so not much. I'll sleep tonight."

Well, maybe he shouldn't take the piss out of Orli, at least for today. As long as he didn't admit it to any of the others.

"How are you doing, Bill? You look a bit off."

"Wanker," he said amiably. "Just annoyed because Elwood never showed. And I've been having this dream." It was true, he realized; he had dreamt last night. "Of this tall skinny guy with a black goatee. Sean thinks he's a ghost. A cowboy."

"Cool!" Orlando enthused. "A ghost, wow. Mum had a ghost when she was a little girl. Used to bang on the windows in the middle of the night. Her dad thought it was boys after her, but she swears not. And then one time, she fell asleep on the sofa, this was when she was at uni, and someone came in and turned the light off, but there wasn't anybody there."

"Gran used to talk about people who could see ghosts," Billy said. "She had a friend, used to tell people stuff she shouldn't have known. Said the ghosts of their loved ones told her." Orlando remained silent, Billy surprised at his reticence. He knew Orlando wanted to ask him about his parents. At last Billy said, "No. I didn't know her. So I didn't ask about me mum and dad. I probably wouldn't have, anyway. I was too angry. The wrong age, I guess, for stuff like that."

"Would you ask now? If you knew her?"

Billy pondered that for a while, watching the white lines of the motorway flash by. "No," he finally said. "I know they loved me. I know they were good people. There's not much else to it."

Softly, Orlando asked, "Do you think there's, like, a heaven?"

"No." Billy could answer that quickly. "I think this is all there is. That's why it's important to be happy with what you've got. It's all you're gonna get."

"Wow," Orlando whispered. "That's. That's scary, I think."

"Orlando, you have so much. You're gonna be James Bond! What the fuck have you got to be scared about." To Billy's shock, when Orlando glanced at him, tears glistened in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Orli. I don't mean to be a prick. But really, you have the world. You're young and beautiful and successful -- Jesus. Is it Kate? Is that what's wrong?"

Orlando ducked his head to swipe his eyes on his shoulder. "Naw. Kate -- that's okay. She was a love, but we're both so young. She just wanted different things than me. I still like to hang with me mates, like now, with you. That's really important to me." He glanced again at Billy. "That's what makes me happy."

Billy rested his hand on Orlando's shoulder. "Then we'll hang. At your new rental, wherever the fuck it is."

Orlando smiled brilliantly at Billy, making him feel a right arse for fucking with him. Young, beautiful, successful, and probably lonely and a bit scared; that was Orlando. Billy's conscience bit at him; he was older and certainly wiser than Orli. He should be kinder, too.

They got lost a lot en route to Orlando's rental, but when they finally pulled through the elaborate gates, Billy was suitably impressed at Orlando's agent's choice. The house wasn't enormous, but it was deeply secluded, hidden behind a high brick wall and then banana trees and birds of paradise. They left the SUV in the circular drive and went to explore the house.

"Champagne in the fridge!" Billy called, pulling out a bottle. He peeled off the foil and popped the cork, marveling that he, little Billy Boyd, knew how to do that so well nowadays, and from a hanging rack took two flutes, filling them with the champagne. He wandered from the kitchen down the hall, where Orlando stood staring into a bedroom. "Veuve Clicquot," he said. "My favourite."

"Any booze is your favourite," Orlando said, and Billy shrugged. True enough. "There are two bedrooms, Bill. Which one do you want?"

"Ah, this one looks nice. Where's the other?" Orlando led him back down the hall, through the kitchen again, and up another hallway. "This is nice, too. I don't care. This one?"

"Sounds good. There's a pool out back."

"No suit."

"I've seen you naked before."

"Don't tell anyone, for God's sake."

"Let's take the champagne out to the pool. Swim in your pants if you want."

Orlando, of course, stripped down completely. Billy studied him as he dove in. Too skinny, he thought. He looked tired, and paler than usual. Billy stripped down, too, but as Orlando had guessed, left on his pants. He cannon-balled in, splashing water over the side of the pool, and came up laughing. "Brilliant!" he said, and it was; the water was perfect.

They splashed each other, and raced across the pool a lap or two, Orlando easily beating Billy. There was a patio that cast a bit of shade over one side of the pool, so Billy brought them their wine glasses and they floated there, sipping champagne, out of the sun except for Orlando's long legs.

"How was the movie in Singapore?" Billy asked.

"Hong Kong," Orlando corrected him. "Horrible. I've never worked on such a set. Everybody at odds with each other. The leading lady's nose -- she was snorting so much coke that her cartilage collapsed and they had to stop production. We all just sat around drinking."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

"It was so hot and humid. I couldn't breathe. My hair went all to frizz. I'm getting nearsighted and had to be fitted for glasses." Billy wasn't sure how to respond to all that. He poured them more champagne and waited. Orlando bit his lip and stared into the fizzing champagne. "I kind of had an affair," he finally said.

"That's good. Isn't it?"

"No. It wasn't good."

"You weren't with Kate then, I know that."

"No, not with Kate. Not with anyone. Just. It was kind of destructive, self-destructive, you know?" He looked at Billy, who felt at such a loss.

"I don't know what to say, Orli. Are you all right? Did she hurt you? What happened? You weren't snorting coke with your leading lady, were you?"

"No. Well, not much. But it wasn't very fun, and I'm already so high energy, it's not really, you know, my thing? Besides, it's so illegal out there; I got really scared to be around anyone using anything. I don't think it's very me."

"No. As I recall, you're more a hug-drug kinda bloke."

Orlando smiled at him. Sadly, though, Billy thought again. "What is it, Orli? What happened to ya?"

He shrugged, and sipped more champagne. "Not that much. Nothing, really. Just. So much waiting around, and I was lonely and scared. And then, see, Bill. There was this guy. He was, like, a PA to somebody, I dunno who, but he was nice, and really friendly, and so I, we, you know, went out together, and went to Lantau Island, because I wanted to see the Buddha. You know that? The Tian Tan? It's like, huge, really enormous, and so peaceful. I just wanted to see the Buddha."

Orlando sounded so sad that Billy reached out to touch his hand. Orlando jumped a little, then laughed. "Sorry," Billy said, puzzled.

"No. S'okay. Just." He sighed.

"Orlando. Tell me. What happened? Did this PA -- did he hurt you?" Orlando's brown eyes shone, with tears, Billy thought, longing to comfort him. "What happened?" he whispered.

"Maybe my heart," Orlando said, smiling. "Mostly my heart."

"You fell in love?"

"It was so beautiful there, Bill. I wanted to see the Buddha, and it was just really special, ya know? Powerful. And lovely. And so fuckin' weird. I mean, everything was so oversize and big, and pretty soon. I dunno. He was just cool about it."

"But?"

"But he just wanted to fuck Orlando fuckin' Bloom."

"Aw, Orli. Shit. But we've all had that happen to us, you know that. The world's fulla arseholes. Orli, it's okay to, y'know, be hurt by this. I mean, you can't just, like, close off your heart because of some cretin who infiltrates your, your life. Your heart." Billy felt his face turn red; he was so fucking incoherent, when Orlando needed so much. "It's okay," he repeated, feeling stupid. "We love you. And you'll find somebody."

"What if I did? And he doesn't want me?"

"Wow." That took Billy by surprise. "The PA?"

"Naw. That was just me being lonely and the Buddha so beautiful. He was an arsehole; you're right. The PA, not the Buddha. I even think I kind of knew it at the time. But he was so sweet, and really good --" Orlando stopped abruptly and turned bright red, gulping at his champagne.

"Really good in the sack, yeah?"

"Yeah," he said in a strangled voice. "Really good."

"But not the guy you love."

"No."

Billy felt far out of his depth. Where was Viggo when you needed him? Foaling a mare in Idaho. Ian was in London. Maybe Chris Astin could help. He sighed. "It'll work out," Billy promised. "Let me think about this, okay? Don't worry." He floated closer and kissed Orlando's cheek. "I promise, It'll work out."

"Well. Cheers." Orlando raised his glass to Billy, who gently touched his to Orlando's.

"Cheers, mate." They drank the rest of the champagne down. "Time for a shower, I think. And then tea. Astins are lovely people but they haven't a clue about tea."

"Tea sounds brilliant," Orlando said, looking determinedly chipper.

In the shower, Billy sighed heavily again, wishing he knew what to do for Orlando. He really did want to talk to Viggo about this. Maybe he could call later. Maybe the horse was through and he could come out. Or maybe, Billy thought, it was time for him to be the grownup here, and comfort Orlando.

He got out of the shower, determined, and found Orlando asleep in his bed, in Billy's bed, sprawled diagonally across it, the spread pulled across his legs and lower back. Billy stood in the doorway, mopping at himself, studying Orlando. His ribs corrugated his back, sliced by the scar. Billy quietly pulled his clothes on, and then tugged the cover higher, across Orlando's shoulders.

He wandered out to the kitchen, looking for real food, not just booze and cheese and crackers. Orlando's agent hadn't done such a good job in that department, he discovered. So he dug through the cupboards until he found an enormous yellow phone book and flipped through the back pages till he found an advertisement for a pizza place that delivered. He placed an order, and went into the front room to wait.

He sat looking through the hundreds of tiny rectangles of glass that made up the front windows. It was only mid-day; he'd moved onto an early schedule, what with Viggo dragging him up mountains and the Astin girls out of bed, but he was still tired. Maybe still on Glasgow time, eight hours later. Maybe just tired.

His eyes began to close, so he slung his feet on the sofa and leaned back. Outside, the world blurred beyond the swirled blocks of glass, the broad leaves of the banana trees tossing in a wind catching his sleepy attention. They waved gracefully, and he rolled his head to one side to watch them better. Then his eyes slid shut.

He woke to a sharp knocking sound. Through the glass, he could see a tall skinny man, wavering as he moved. Billy sat up, and then realized it had to be the pizza guy.

He woke Orlando gently. "Can you eat a bit? It's vegetarian."

Orlando smiled up at him, still half asleep. "Vegetarian? You made vegetables?"

Billy smiled back and helped him sit up. "Oh, yeah, I'm a fuckin' brilliant cook. You know better than that, idjit."

Orlando yawned. "Anything sounds good right now. Even your cooking."

Billy sat next to him. "How might you like your pizza, my boy?"

Orlando slung an arm around Billy. "Here. I like it right here."

Billy smiled up at him, receiving a kiss on his forehead. He shook his head, laughing to himself. Ten years ago, this would have been impossible to imagine: sitting with a beautiful young man -- a movie star -- in a movie star house in Malibu. "I like it here, too," he admitted.

"Elijah called," Orlando reported the next morning when he staggered out of his bedroom to find Billy mixing mimosas.

"That fucker. When's he gonna call me? I'm the one he invited out. What's his excuse?"

"Your phone was off. He left you a voicemail."

"Oh."

Orlando grinned at him. "Oh. Anyway, he's gotta go to Paris next and is gonna be later than he planned."

"Planned? That arsewipe _planned_ this?"

"Well, not planned. But anyway, he's not coming back right away. So, listen, I was, like, thinking that we could do something. We could stay here, but maybe we could go somewhere. Or you could go back to the Astins'; that's where your stuff is." He sipped at the mimosa Billy handed him. "Let's go out for breakfast, think about what to do."

"How much time do you have?"

Orland blushed and scrubbed at his hair. "Well, I'm supposed to be in Toronto in a couple of days."

"Toronto. Fuck." Billy stared out at the pool, squinting his eyes against its brilliant glimmer. Why the fuck had he come out? Elijah was a prick, that's all there was to it. Passing him around like some mathom nobody wanted. "Fuck," he said again. "I dunno. Maybe I should just go back to Glasgow."

"No, Bill, see, it's brilliant that you're here. We haven't seen you in so long. Don't you want to be here? With us again? You're always off making movies or doing plays, whatever, and, like, this is the most I've talked to you in three years, yeah?"

"Yeah." He swallowed the rest of his mimosa. "Let's get breakfast, like ya said. Then swing by the Astins' and I'll get my stuff, talk to Sean a bit."

"Brilliant." Orlando beamed at him and rose, chattering non-stop. Billy had to smile at his friend. He might be older, but he hadn't lost any of his energy or spirit.

"You're too thin," Billy said abruptly, staring at Orlando's backside. "Why's that Orli? You on some Hollywood diet?"

Orlando shrugged, but didn't turn around. "Hard to eat, sometimes. Like, I get busy, ya know? And then people say things."

That was incoherent as fuck, Billy thought, but he also thought he understood. "You're too alone. Bustin' up with Kate, I know that wasn't your idea. You seein' anybody these days?" Orlando shook his head, still not looking at Billy. "What about Bean? He was always a good influence on ya."

Orlando turned back at that, to smile at Billy. "He's a busy guy," he said.

Billy pulled out his mobile. Sure enough, he'd missed a call, no doubt Elijah's. But he speed-dialed Bean. "S'up, fucker?" He had to hold the phone away from his ear while Bean spewed invective at him. "Listen, mate. I'm with Orli and he needs to talk to ya. I'm gonna get dressed and take him out to breakfast. He's not eatin', he's drinkin' too much, and workin' too hard. Just so's ya know." He passed the mobile to Orlando, who'd turned as red as the stripes on his shirt.

Billy decided to take a long shower before dressing, to give Orlando and Sean time to talk. He wondered if he could persuade Orlando to stay here, miss whatever was going on in Toronto, so he could take care of him a bit. Enlist Sean and Chris in his efforts.

When he finally found Orlando again later, sitting quietly in the front room, staring out the same hundreds of rectangular panes of blurry glass in the big window that he had stared at yesterday afternoon. "Any idea where to go?"

"The Wilshire Hotel in Beverly Hills has a nice breakfast," he said, sounding unlike Orli.

Billy poked him. "A nice breakfast? Second breakfast, too? I'm a hobbit; I eat more'n elves do."

Orlando finally looked at him and gave him a sweet smile. "Perfect for hobbitses," he said. "Thanks."

Billy assumed he meant for calling Sean Bean. "De nada," he said, knowing it would make Orlando laugh. Why everyone laughed when he tried to speak Spanish he wasn't sure. "Vaminos, querido."

He succeeded in making Orlando laugh even more, trashing his mommy-car. The breakfast was good, too, and more than adequate for any number of hobbits. Orlando seemed calmer to Billy than the previous day; maybe a good night's sleep had helped, or maybe talking to Bean. Or maybe even me, he thought, smiling to himself as they drove back to the Astins' home.

Billy eavesdropped shamelessly on Orlando and Chris's conversation, Sean eventually falling silent so he could listen as well. "So, like, he was in New York, so he's gonna come up to Toronto, spend the weekend."

"Toronto's a beautiful city," Chris said. "So much to do there. You'll have a good time, I know."

"Yeah. There's some exhibit Sean wants to see. I forget what, but I'll email you, tell you about it."

Sean Astin looked at Billy; they smiled at each other. "So what're you gonna do while Orli's in Toronto?" Sean asked. "I heard from Lij; he's in Paris for a few days."

"How come everybody hears from Elijah but me?" Billy complained, but all three pointed out that he had indeed heard from Elijah.

"Not his fault you never answer your phone," Sean said reproachfully; Billy knew that he would always defend Elijah. Elijah could really be a serial killer cannibal and Sean would find reasons to justify his behaviour. He studied Sean's earnest face. To his own surprise, he reached up and cupped Sean's cheek, then kissed him. He heard Chris murmur, "Awww," and Orlando snicker. Well, fuck. Didn't matter.

"So what should I do now?" he asked them. "Since Mister Frodo hasn't turned up at the Prancing Pony? I wish Dom were here," he added, half to himself. "He'd keep me entertained."

"Dear Billy, please stay here," Chris said, and Sean nodded vigorously.

"Or at my place. It's rented for three months. It'd be great to know you were there," Orlando suggested.

Chris said,"Maybe you should just stay here longer. Let me take care of you." She looked at Orlando. "Both of you."

"Please," Sean added, looking earnestly from Billy to Orlando and back. "We'd love it. The girls would love it. Stay."

Billy felt nearly overwhelmed by the kindness of these people. He ran his fingers through his hair, then waited patiently as Orlando smoothed it down. "Yeah," he said finally. "I'd like that. Thanks to that wanker Elijah, I'm supposed to be in LA for a couple of weeks, so I'll stay. Orli?"

"Today and tonight. Tomorrow's Toronto."

"Tomorrow's Bean, you mean," Billy teased him, but Chris shushed him.

"For that, you can help me get the girls ready for dinner. Sean, you and Orlando choose a place and make reservations."

Billy obediently followed Chris down the hall to the room Lizzie and the baby shared; Ali was already there, half dressed in a yellow petticoat. "Sweetheart," her mum said in such a tender voice that Billy's heart melted in his chest. "Are you sure you want to wear that? Isn't it itchy for a summer day?"

"Pretty!" Lizzie said admiringly as Ali spun; the petticoat swirled like a minor sun around her, revealing a skinned knee with a sticking plaster across it. Billy agreed; she was pretty.

"All right," Chris sighed, glancing at Billy. "Let's get you lot dressed. Ali, Uncle Billy's going to help you. Show him the dress you wear with that so he can do the buttons."

Feeling clumsy and foolish, Billy helped Ali pull the lacy yellow sundress over her head. The buttons were tiny, and the buttonholes very tight. He lifted her onto the bed, making the baby giggle as she gnawed on her knuckles and stared up at her big sister. "Such a big girl you're gettin' to be," Billy said into Ali's ear. He finished buttoning the dress and straightened it, turning her around. The skirt stood out above the petticoat, like a softer tutu. He wished Dom were here to see her; she was getting so big so fast.

"Brush my hair, Uncle Billy," she asked. He fetched a brush off the dresser and carefully stroked it through her long, fine hair. Margaret had worn her hair long when they were little, and Billy had brushed it for her on special occasions; he was reminded of past holidays as he worked a tangle out.

"M not pullin', am I?"

"Just a little."

When he was satisfied with the results, he looked up to find Chris watching him, a soft smile on her lips. Lizzie was dressed in pale blue, the color of Elijah's eyes, he thought, and the baby in a pink smock with a pink bow under her chin, shiny with drool. "A beautiful flock of birds," Billy said. "The four of you."

Carrying the baby, Chris rose and kissed his cheek. She was taller than he, and weighed more; altogether a more adult person then he was, in Billy's estimation. A grownup. He pursed his lips in thought, and helped Ali down from the bed.

"Beautiful women!" Sean cried when he saw them, nudging Orlando, who spun Lizzie around with a circle, making her shout.

"Don't be windin' them up, now," Billy warned. "We don't want them too excited to eat."

"Where're we going, boys?" Chris asked as Sean herded them out the door. Billy paused in front of him, smiling into Sean's proud face. He was beaming, and Billy knew exactly what he was thinking: This was his family. He had brought these people together, brought the girls into existence, made this life possible. Impulsively, he kissed Sean again, making him blush and bite his lip as he quickly turned to lock the door behind them.

"Thank you," Billy said.

Sean put his arm through Billy's as they followed the girls and Orlando to Orli's SUV. "Thank you, Bill," he said huskily.

Billy found his way to Orlando's bedroom that night. The girls had long been asleep, Chris had kissed them all goodnight, and hours later Sean had staggered off, pleading exhaustion. Now it was just the two of them. Billy knocked lightly and pushed open the door.

Orlando was already in bed, sitting up, reading the LA Times. He looked tired and a bit sad. "Mind company?" Billy asked him.

"Never," he said, and scooted over, pushing down the covers a bit.

Billy crawled into the bed, tucking a pillow between his back and the headboard. "Pretty room."

"Everything about this place is pretty. Like something out of a magazine. Like, uh, House Beautiful."

"Family Beautiful," Billy said softly, and Orlando nodded. "Was great seein' ya, Orli." He yawned. "Wonder what time zone I'm on now."

"Me, too. Half a world apart, Hong Kong and Glasgow. Guess LA is right in the middle." Billy nodded, resting his head back. "At least you have a home."

"Orli, it's incredible that you don't have a home. Your mum's? That flat in London?"

"Yeah, I guess. But no, no, Bill, no. I don't. Not like you, or Sean. Not even like Lij, with his mum."

Billy tilted his head a bit to the right, so he rested against Orlando's shoulder. "Someday, Orli. I promise. You're awful bloody young, even now. And so busy. What, a movie out twice a year, three times in leap years?"

"Sod off," Orlando said, scowling at Bill, but Billy could tell he didn't mean it. "You really think? Someday?"

"Someday."

"Want some paper?"

"Business section, yeah."

They sat in bed reading. Billy eventually fell asleep, his head rocked back against Orlando's shoulder; he woke needing to piss and discovered a crick in his neck. "Old, old, you're gettin' old, Boyd," he mumbled to himself, sliding off the bed to find his way to the en suite. Once finished, he hung in Orlando's doorway, uncertain whether to return to his own room or to Orlando's bed. Logic and prudence dictated his own bed; comfort led him back to Orlando's. He crawled under the sheet, trying not to jostle Orlando, who groaned and rolled over, snorting into his pillow. Billy smiled down at him. "Someday," he promised the sleeping Orlando.

* * *

Orlando insisted on taking a cab to LAX, letting them say goodbye in privacy of the Astins' home. Lizzie cried; Ali's eyes glistened, as did her father's. Billy knew his were red, too, when he pulled away from a lengthy hug with Orlando. "Safe flight," he whispered into Orlando's ear. "Tell Bean's there's a brothel I know in Toronto . . ." Orlando punched him in the upper arm, then kissed him.

"Arsehole," he whispered so the girls wouldn't hear, and stuck his tongue in Billy's ear.

"Eww," Ali said, staring at them.

"Say goodbye to Uncle Orli," Sean instructed them. "Cab's here. Got all your stuff? Right, then. God speed. Come back soon. Love you."

"Love you, too, Sean," Orlando told him, kissing Sean and then Chris. "Bye, girls; bye, darlings."

"Bye, bye!" they all cried, crowding around the front door, waving.

Billy felt silly, wiping his damp ear and then his eyes. "House'll be quieter with him gone," he observed as the cab drove away.

Sean was just closing the door when a cab drove up the curving drive. "Forget something?" Billy called, peering around Sean, but Ian climbed out of the cab.

"Yes, actually, I did. In Wellington, at that pub, do you remember? Where we played darts and you nearly put my eye out? I left my reading glasses there. I was particularly fond of those frames. Hello, hello," he greeted them.

Billy was flummoxed by Ian's sudden appearance. "What on earth are ya doin' here?" he asked, kissing Ian hello.

"Come in," Sean urged. "Coffee? Tea? How's our tea, Bill? Worthy of a knight?"

"Ooh, incredible tea, specially when you forget to strain it."

"I thought you said I made good tea," Chris said, coming into the hallway to greet Ian. "But my coffee is better," she told him, folding her arm under his. "I'm so glad you're here. Wait till you see the baby."

"Did ya know he was comin'?" Billy called after them, but they chattered on about children and coffee and pastries. He and Sean looked at each other, then followed.

"Regular Grand Central Station in here," Sean muttered.

"So you don't usually have this many visitors?"

"Good lord, no. Ever since you set foot in the States, though, it's been a revolving door here."

"You're blaming me?"

"Who else?"

They settled in the more formal of their living rooms, the one the girls weren't allowed to play in, all chintz and dark wood. Billy felt a bit out of place there himself, but Ian looked absolutely at home with Chris waiting on him and with he and Sean waiting for commands.

When Chris left to start the coffee, Sean said, "Can I ask the reason for this honour?"

"Oh, I heard Billy was in town and perhaps at loose ends. Thought he and I could take in a show. Not a lot of great theatre in LA, but lots of rather good theatre. Check out the competition, one might say. Bill?"

"Love to, Ian. Don't think I've ever been to a play in LA. Just pubs and bars and various watering establishments."

"A Scotsman to the bone, I see. Well, we can do that, too."

"I always learn a lot from you," Billy said as Chris returned bearing a large silver tray. He jumped up and took it from her while she cleared a space on the low table in front of Ian so he could set it down. "Your coffee, my lord," he said. "Milk? Sugar?"

"Oh, bugger off," Ian said, sending Sean into gales of high-pitched laughter while Chris smiled and serenely poured coffee.

"Didja hear from Elijah?" Billy asked.

"He might have called, yes," Ian said, sipping from the delicate cup Christine handed him. "He's in Cherbourg, now. He visited Mont St-Michel, paparazzi on his heels; I'm sure you could find photos on the net."

"I'm shite on the computer. Maybe Sean could. Any play in particular you want to see?"

"_School for Wives_. Would you like to see it?"

"I'd watch paint dry with you, Ian, you must know that."

"I'd hoped." Ian smiled at Billy, and he felt his face flush with pleasure; always such a treat to be with Ian. He admitted to himself it was also very flattering to be sought out.

"Tonight then. I have excellent tickets, and a strong desire for your company."

"Will you stay here tonight, Ian? You're more than welcome."

"Ah, thank you, Christine, but I have a very nice suite at the Four Seasons. Plenty of room, dear boy, if you'd like to stay there as well."

Billy smiled helplessly at Ian: tickets to a play, dinner, an offer to stay in his suite -- if it were anyone else, Billy would know he was being picked up. But Ian was being Ian, the generous curmudgeon whom Billy had grown to love. Their work ethics and techniques were remarkably similar, which made, Billy found, an excellent base for a friendship. "I think I'll stay with the Astins, if ya don't mind," he said, "but I'd love to have dinner with ya, and see the play."

"Well, then." Ian looked as satisfied as Lizzie with a biscuit in each fist. "Now, how have you been keeping?"

"Ah, well enough, I think. All these beautiful Astin girls to keep me busy, ya know, and then Sean to remind me of my duty."

"Uh, what duty is that, Bill?" Sean asked him, frowning a bit.

"Why, to take the piss out of ya. You're gettin' entirely too pompous now, Sean, on all them talk shows I see ya on. Thought this was the Prozac nation; shouldn't you be mellowin' out now?"

Sean turned red but laughed as loudly as Billy. Christine smiled, too, and winked at Billy. "Why, you minx," Billy said, and leaned over to kiss her cheek.

The play was good, to Billy's surprise, and in the theatre's bar he confessed to Ian his prejudices against theatre in Los Angeles. "San Francisco, well, they have a tradition, ya know," he said earnestly, "but here?"

"You're stereotyping an entire region," Ian scolded loudly, and then whispered into his ear, "but I think you're right." They laughed so loudly that Billy caught the bartender's eye; he used the opportunity to swing his index finger in a circle to indicate another round.

Billy was asked for his autograph three times in that bar, and twice in the next one while Ian smiled indulgently. Two times, the girls had pictures of Dom, which Billy signed nonetheless, resisting the temptation to write over Dom's crooked smile or to blacken his newly-bleached teeth with his Sharpie. Each time, the requester noticed Ian only afterwards, but he complied with grace, writing his name beneath's Billy's. Billy remained silent until they had a little privacy. "Odd, that, don't ya think?"

"What, that they go after you first? My dear, you're less than half my age and much better looking."

"No, well, yes, that's true, but I mean you're better known than I am."

"Not here, I'm not," Ian said. "Or only as Gandalf or Magneto. It's a different world out here. You know that."

"Yeah." Billy did know. He bit his lip, remembering.

"You're thinking of Dominic, are you not?"

"Course I am" Billy said. "Hard not to." Ian lifted his glass of scotch. "He had such a tough time here. A fuckin' idiot."

"You're a good friend, Billy Boyd. We should all be so lucky to have such friends."

"Ah, well. He's been a good one to me as well, the poncy little git."

"With his dyed hair and bleached teeth?"

"And ya mustn't forget the eyeliner and nail varnish." They toasted Dominic, clinking glasses, Billy swallowing his drink right down. "Another, I think, and then a cab home." He waved a bit wildly for the waitress.

"Dom followed a long tradition, coming to California to reinvent himself."

Billy shrugged. He didn't think Dom had needed reinventing.

"Why are you here, Billy?" Ian asked him when their glasses had been refilled.

"To see Elwood, the lyin' little bastard. He invited me out, said he had some time off. Guess he forgot to check the calendar before he called."

"Hm." Ian sipped, looking inscrutable.

"I hate that rubbish," Billy told him firmly. "Stop playing Gandalf. Or Magneto, for that matter. Just tell me what's on your mind."

"Not a thing. It's too late and I'm too old to have anything on my mind."

Billy scowled, but then had to yawn. "I should go," he said, finishing his drink.

"Tomorrow? There's an avant-garde piece I'd like to see; a friend of a friend of a friend wrote it."

"Count me in. My treat for dinner, though."

"As long as it isn't hamburgers or haggis, you're on. Call me." They both rose, Billy feeling the perfect level of intoxication, as if the world weighed no more than a helium balloon, yet it remained stable beneath his feet. The maitre d' called them both cabs, and going outside to wait for them, Billy discovered a fog had settled in. The shapes of the palms and the birds of paradise were blurred, made mysterious by the shifting blue mist. He pulled his jacket around him more tightly and sighed, watching his breath in the night. "Rather beautiful," Ian said, and he nodded.

"It has its moments," Billy agreed, and this, he thought, was one of them. Standing in the fog outside the noisy bar with a knight of the Empire: this was a moment.

Ian surprised Billy, as he so often did, this time with a CD by the 20-20s. "I heard them in Oxford recently," he explained.

Billy accepted the CD with thanks, not sure what to expect. The cabs arrived and they had to say goodnight. In the privacy of Billy's bedroom, he popped the CD into his old Walkman; when the sound exploded from it he nearly fell over. This was more like the music Ian used to bellow at Elijah and Dom for playing than anything Billy had expected.

The next night, waiting in the audience for the world premiere of _Kindred_ to start at one of UCLA's many theatres, he whispered, "Where the hell did you find the 20-20s?"

"I told you," Ian said, looking surprised. "In Oxford." At Billy's frown, he shrugged. "Well, if you must know, this rather lovely young man took me to a club. The Zodiak, I believe. It was dark and noisy and quite exotic. Reminded me of some of the clubs you rascals used to drag me to in Wellington, all those years ago."

"Good God," Billy said, trying to picture Ian there, but then the house lights went down and he settled back into his seat.

Billy had had no idea how much theatre there was in LA, but there was enough that he and Ian went out several times in the week Ian was in LA. They'd have dinner out most nights, but his last night in the States, Ian ate with Billy at the Astins. It was a late meal, so the girls were all in bed. Christine handed them flutes of champagne when Sean and Billy ushered Ian in the house, and then offered them tiny canapes and hors d'oeuvres from a blindingly polished silver platter. Billy smiled at her warmly, and she leant forward to kiss him, a dry kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Thank you," he whispered, and then popped a tiny crab-stuffed puff pastry into his mouth. He picked up a minute mushroom tart and watched greedily as Ian ate a miniature seafood mousse.

"These are exquisite," Ian told Christine, who beamed. Billy knew she'd been working all day, with the girls' help, while he and Sean had argued over how to lay a fire and got in her way. There was prosciutto and melon, fat Greek olives that he loved and ate far too many of, and endive stuffed with a salty cheese. Billy indulged his naturally hobbit-like nature, and when they finally settled at the flower-laden dining room table, he was ready to roll up his sleeves and eat.

"The work you put into this," Ian kept marveling as Chris proudly brought out each course. Billy was inevitably reminded of meals with John in New Zealand, and this would be another meal to remember. If only Dom were here, to capture the moment so he could imitate it later and make Billy laugh till he wept.

The others also remembered, and Sean, as always, started saying, "Do you remember when? Do you remember?"

Billy said, "Do you remember the time Orlando was so drunk he put his face on that dirty bar? Where was that?"

Ian said, "Do you remember the time you took me to that grotty little hole in Wellington to hear a band Elijah liked and the police stopped us?"

Sean said, "Do you remember the time Elijah fell asleep in my lap while I had my fingers stuffed in my ears because the music was so loud?"

Christine said, "I think that all happened at the same pub, didn't it?"

Billy laughed. "Yeah, you're right, and shit, do you remember when you had to come get us because we were all trashed and had spent all our money? Elwood had come away without any, and Dom lost his down the toilet, just fell out of his pocket?"

"Flushed his keys, too, remember?" Sean said, wiping his sweating face.

"I remember. His room was next to mine and he must have had half the hotel staff up to let him in. Why couldn't he just sleep with you," Ian appealed to Billy.

"Ian! Whatever are you suggesting?" Billy asked, making his eyes as big as Elijah's. "Such a lewd old man you are."

Ian studied his wine. "Oh, neither lewd nor old enough to believe that," he said mildly, and winked at Billy. Sean laughed harder, and Chris left to bring in another bottle of champagne.

"Lovely evening," Ian said when he was hugging them farewell. "A lovely visit. And you," he said to Billy, holding him by the shoulders. "Come to London. I have a few ideas."

"Any of them legal?" Billy asked, but kissed Ian and held on fiercely. "Had a brilliant time," he whispered. "I miss you."

"And I you." They stared at each other for a few seconds, and then Ian released him. "Goodbye, dear ones," he told the Astins. "Look after yourselves, and especially look after this scoundrel." He slid his hand across Billy's face, a tender gesture that made Billy blush with pleasure.

* * *

"That's a fine gentleman," Sean said as they watched the taillights of Ian's cab speed him back to the Four Seasons. "Why doesn't he buy a home in LA? And why don't you?" he asked Billy, shutting the door. "You like it here. You've been surfing nearly every day, out to the theatre every night, clubs, pubs, and parties -- and us. Why not, Bill?"

Billy shrugged, smiling wistfully. He did miss much about LA: the warmth, the sea, the beautiful women dressed so scantily. And of course, his friends out here. Viggo had a home here, as did Elijah and Sean and John. Even Dom had a home in the Hollywood Hills. "Dunno, really," he said. "Maybe some day. But Glasgow's still home, y'know? It's just my home."

Sean hugged him; he was hot and sweaty and, Billy knew, perilously near tears from all the champagne and Ian's departure. He rubbed Sean's back, feeling him relax. "I love you," Sean whispered, and kissed Billy's temple.

"You're a right silly man," Billy told him, but he kissed Sean back, and then Chris, before going to his cool, quiet room. The windows were thrown open, and the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle floated in on the sugary night air. He shut out the light and sat by the window, staring out into their back garden. Tiny lights lined a path leading to the pool, which glowed soft blue. He was half tempted to go for a swim, and maybe if he'd been with someone he would have. But it was late, and he was tired and more than a bit drunk; more than that, he was alone. He toppled into bed, kicking off his trousers, but falling asleep in his shirt and pants.

He woke needing a pee, but when he'd crawled back into bed, he found that, as tired as he was, he couldn't sleep. Billy felt he couldn't stay any longer at the Astins; he was fearful of wearing out his welcome. But where to go? He had another two weeks in LA, thanks to that fucking Elijah No-Show Wood. Billy sighed and rubbed his face. Orli had left him a key to his rental. Or he could go to a hotel, but that didn't appeal much; it was skinflint of him, he knew, but he also spent too much time in hotels for his work to find them a pleasure. He shoved two pillows behind him and sat up, pulling his knees to his chest, and rested his head on his knees, trying to think.

Sod Elijah anyway, for inviting him out and then not being here. And why could they only leave voicemails for each other? No one else seemed to have a problem getting through. As Elijah would say, it sucked.

He sighed, and rubbed his tired eyes. What a cock up. Incredible, really, to be sitting here in this nice American home, in the middle of the night, waiting for Godot. He rolled his head back and wriggled down into the bed. If he was going to be awake all night, he might as well be comfortable.

He put his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling, barely visible in the faint light falling through his open window. The temperature was perfect, the balmy perfumed air of southern California rolling over his nearly naked body. He sighed, and ran one hand down his chest, tugging lightly at his chest hair, and then slipped it under the elastic of his pants. He sighed again at the sensation. It was late, the girls were asleep, his door was tightly shut -- he wrapped his hand around his prick and tugged, enjoying the feel of it rising in his hand. Heavy and hot in his grip, it thickened as he tightened and then loosened his grip, sliding his hand down and then up, feeling the arousal deep inside him, a growing pressure needing release.

He shut his eyes and imagined that cute girl he'd lusted after in second form; she'd never touched him except in his imagination, but he had still blushed each time their eyes met. He remembered the surprising weight of a boy he'd wrestled so pleasurably behind a club on a cold spring night, and the sly smile of the girl who gave him his first blow job. Oh, that had been a night; he groaned and pulled harder at himself, using both hands now. As blonde as little Ali Astin she'd been, and fuck, but that killed the mood. He hastily adjusted himself and pulled the sheet over him, hands safely outside.

He sighed yet again, in disappointment this time. Maybe he should move to a hotel. The Four Seasons was nice, Ian had said.

He woke late, the girls for once not rousing him, to the sound of sparrows arguing outside his bedroom window. He stretched, feeling heavy and relaxed. The house was empty when he wandered into the kitchen looking for tea. A yellow note was stuck to a cabinet door: Help yourself to whatever you want, it read. Errands to run. Back in the afternoon. Love, and then all the Astins had signed it or drawn or smudged something on it. Billy smiled and carefully folded it, tucking it into a back pocket.

He made himself tea, and toast out of real bread, not the low-carb shite, smearing it thickly with heather honey he himself had sent Chris from Scotland. He was licking the honey from his fingers when a change in the light caught his eye. Through the glass backdoor, he saw a tall wavering figure; he suddenly remembered his vision in the mountains.

Wiping his hands on his jeans, he rose so quickly the chair clattered and he had to catch it before it toppled. Then he opened the door.

"Is that tea?" Dom asked him, peering past Billy into the kitchen. "I'd kill for a cuppa. Here." He handed Billy an enormous bouquet of flowers, most of which Billy didn't recognize.

"Thanks," Billy said, feeling dazed. "Dom?"

"Who else?"

Still clutching the bouquet, Billy held out his arms and Dom practically jumped into them. "Silly bugger," he whispered into Dom's ear. "Nearly pissed myself with surprise. What're ya doin' here?"

"Lij. Told me to get my arse back and take care of you." Dom held Billy even tighter. "Besides, I fuckin' missed you. Everything about you."

"Christ, not as much as I missed you," Billy whispered, finding it difficult to speak. He swallowed and shut his eyes, trying to focus on the feel of Dom's body pressed against his. He felt bigger, more muscular, than before, and as warm as the Hawaiian beaches he surfed. "You feel so good."

Dom didn't answer, just burrowed his face into the crook of Billy's neck, and Billy gently leaned his head against Dom's, relishing the sensation. Dom did feel good; he felt better than anyone in the world, Billy thought. He was a restorative; holding Dom like this seemed to obviate Billy's need for rest.

When he could breathe again, Billy slowly loosened his hold on Dom. "Flowers?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "That's lovely of you."

"For Chris, you tosser," Dom said. "But this -- this is for you." He pulled Billy in again, and Billy went; he felt reeled in, like the fish Dom had caught in New Zealand. He was hooked, he knew, in all senses of the word; he had been starved for Dom, for his body, his attention, his affection. Now that he was, so improbably, here, Billy would take advantage of it.

"I fucking missed you," Dom said again, and Billy shivered.

"Yeah," he was able to say, but words left him when Dom raised his head, looked Billy in the eye, and then kissed him.

They'd kissed before, of course, many times over the years. Billy had grown accustomed to kissing all his Rings co-stars, and indeed looked forward to their show of physical affection. It still thrilled him, and made him feel part of something special.

But this kiss, in Sean and Chris's kitchen, on a mid-summer's morning in LA, with the scent of tea and the taste of heather honey, was unlike those other, friendly kisses. Dom's kiss was almost fierce; he held Billy tightly, licking at his lips, sucking on his tongue, thrusting his tongue into Billy's mouth.

Billy kissed him back, startled at first, but with increasing intensity as their kisses grew more carnal, until he was clutching at Dom's shirt and shoulders, squashing Chris's flowers against the back of Dom's head. When they broke apart, Billy was panting, his knuckles white, his muscles tense. "Fuck," he breathed, staring at Dom.

"It's okay?" Dom asked, his brows drawing together. "I didn't mean to --"

"You better mean to," Billy told him, trying to relax. He was gasping for breath as if he were back at eleven thousand feet climbing among the ancient trees. "I want you to mean to. I _need_ you to mean to."

"I do mean to," Dom said, nodding his head, looking more confident. "I fucking do; that's why I flew in on the red eye, just to see you and, and try this. I thought I was dying, Bill, so far from you for so long. It's been nearly six months and I thought I was dying."

"Like not enough oxygen," Billy said, and Dom nodded even more.

"Exactly. Like that time in Mexico, when I went under --"

"I pulled you out, though."

"You always do. I knew you would, I mean I hoped, but I knew if anybody could, it'd be you, coz it's always you, Bill. It's always fucking been you."

It was as though the San Andreas fault had finally cracked open, separating Billy from everything that had ever happened. He nearly staggered under the realization. "It is you," he said. "I'm a fuckin' half-wit." He stared at Dom's face, so familiar to him. "I can't believe that bugger Lij arranged this. How did he know, when I didn't?"

"I'm not much better," Dom said, smiling softly at him. "Took a hundred phone calls from Elwood. Finally, he came out to Hawaii and kicked my arse."

Billy frowned. "When?"

"Yesterday. Met me on the set, which caused a huge uproar; I must say, the girls do love the prat. Drove me straight to the airport. Haven't got a bit of luggage with me; I'll have to wear your pants and shirts."

"Elijah's in Hawaii?" Billy felt as though he weren't processing information fast enough. Maybe all that time on the mountain had damaged him. Or all the drinking he'd been doing. "I thought he was in France."

"That's what I'm tellin' ya. He flew out yesterday. Still there, housesitting for me, takin' care of all my creepy-crawlies."

"That little fuck."

"Yeah," Dom agreed, and they beamed at each other.

"God bless Elijah."

"Yeah."

"Let's not discuss Elijah any more."

"Yeah," Dom started to say, but Billy interrupted him with another kiss. As they kissed, he tugged Dom into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him. He dropped the now-bedraggled bouquet into the sink, pushing Dom against the bench so he could press more firmly against him, from thigh to belly to chest. Dom sighed through the kiss, pliant in Billy's arms.

"Astins are out for the day," Billy said between kisses. "Nothing to disturb us." He wondered if they'd known, if Elijah had called them, too, but then Dom shoved a hand between them to cup Billy's prick as it hardened in his jeans. Billy felt Dom's prick rubbing against his thigh. It felt embarrassing, and exciting, and incredibly arousing. He shouldn't be doing this, not now, not after all these years of friendship, except he couldn't think why not nor why they hadn't earlier. Dom kept pushing and rubbing and wriggling and kissing his mouth and cheeks and chin until he felt hot and flushed and sweaty, and was sucking in great draughts of air between kissing Dom as fiercely as he could, clutching at his arse to pull him ever tighter even as he pushed Dom more firmly against the kitchen bench.

When Billy thought his eyes would roll into his head, Dom said, "Where's your room?" Without speaking, Billy grabbed his hand and led the way through the lounge, up the hall, and into his room. He slammed the door behind them and followed Dom to his still unmade bed. "I haven't been able to sleep since I got here," he admitted, wrapping his arms around Dom's waist and resting his chin on Dom's shoulder so they both stood looking down at the bed.

"Then you must be fatigued," Dom said, and Billy nodded. "Need some rest. A bit of shut-eye. A little lie-down. A snooze. Some zees --"

"Shut up," Billy said, but he was laughing. "You know what I need. You must; why else fly all this way?"

"Coz I need it, too, Bill." Dom turned in Billy's arms so they faced each other again, and then sat on the bed, drawing Billy down with him. He pushed Dom onto his back and crawled over him, knees on the mattress. He remembered last night, lying alone in bed, trying to masturbate. This was so much better. "Time to kiss me, Bill, and get serious."

"I'll show you serious," Billy said, but he wasn't joking anymore. He lowered himself cautiously until he lay on top of Dom, their pricks aligned through their clothing. They fit perfectly, he thought.

"Perfect," Dom said, echoing Billy's thoughts. "Just fuckin' perfect."

Billy smiled. "Yeah," he said. The morning was warming up; it was going to be a hot day, he could tell. Dom began undoing the button and zip of Billy's jeans. A very hot day, he thought, lifting a bit so Dom could push down his jeans, and he kicked them off. His prick hung heavy and thick; the warm air felt wonderful, cooling where it had been frayed by friction against Billy's clothing. He watched closely as Dom undid his own trousers and wriggled them below his hips; Dom then seized both their pricks with one hand and Billy was forced to close his eyes again. He wouldn't last long, not this first time. He leaned down to kiss Dom more, loving how Dom's mouth opened automatically under his.

Of course they'd be good together, he thought later. How not? With all they'd been through and done?

Thank you, Elijah, he thought even later, when he lay drowsing in the warm afternoon, watching Dom breathe. I owe you one.

Dom opened his eyes, and smiled, and reached for Billy again.

  


**Depart LAX 16:35  
Arrive Kona 19:12**

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The title "Chrysanthemum Tryst" is taken from the name of a chapter of _Ugetsu Monogatari: Tales of Moonlight and Rain_, written in the 1700s by Ueda Akinari. You can read about the book and a summary of this chapter [here](http://www.gotterdammerung.org/books/reviews/u/ugetsu-monogatari.html).

[Beizy](http://beizy.livejournal.com) took the last photo at ORC 2005; it's used with her kind permission.

Viggo took Billy to the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest, one of my favoritest places in the world. The official USFS site is [here](http://www.fs.fed.us/outdoors/naturewatch/region-5/Botany-Wildlife/ancient-bristlecone/index.shtml), but [this website](http://www.sonic.net/bristlecone/intro.html) is even better.

There are lots of websites describing the Tian Tan Buddha, but [here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tian_Tan_Buddha) is a good place to start.

LA is a pretty good place for theatre, as Ian demonstrated to Billy. They saw Moliere's School for Wives and [Kindred](http://www.tft.ucla.edu/events/index.cfm?action=display_news&NEWS_ID=321), among other plays.

There really is a Zodiak club in Oxford, and the 20-20s really did play there. 

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